My dad went in to the doctor's today to take a stress test after his heart attack. It's been eight weeks now, long enough to see if the dietary changes and drugs have started to take affect, and to see how much damage was actually done to his heart.
He came over to my desk this afternoon, very quiet and a little still, and he asks "You know I had my stress test today, right?" I affirmed, and asked how it went. "Well, I got on the treadmill, got my heart rate up to 150, and they put the ultrasound over my heart, and the doctor, you know the doctor who was educated at Oxford, the one who is either Indian or Pakistani, but I think he's Indian..."
YES, DAD, the TEST?
"Oh, the doctor looked at my heart and said it was amazing! That there was hardly any damage at all, not even around the stent!"
And that was when I smacked him.
(Not really, but sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesh. Way to bury the lede there dad!)